


Point B

by Delilah_Joy



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-14
Updated: 2010-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-08 00:11:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delilah_Joy/pseuds/Delilah_Joy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is their third time--or it will be, assuming anything actually happens.  So why is it so hard to figure out how to make a move?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Point B

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lunabee34 (Lorraine)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorraine/gifts).



> Written for the "minor characters" round of Maleslashminis, for Lunabee34, who wanted Xander/Jesse with a sleepover, scary movies and junk food. The characters are underage, but they are both over sixteen.

Nothing new about walking up Jesse’s front steps; Xander’s done it a million times.  Nothing new about standing on the porch, ringing the doorbell, waiting for someone to answer.  Feeling nervous while doing it, though--that’s pretty new.  

Jesse’s mom opens the door and smiles.  “Hi Xander,” she says.  “Come on in.”

“Hi, Mrs. McNally,” he says.  He’s having trouble looking at her.  He loves Mrs. McNally; she’s almost like a second mom to him.  Maybe even a first mom, in some ways, except that in that scenario, Jesse would be his brother, and that’s just...no.

She’s never been anything but kind to Xander, but he wonders how she’d act if she knew what was going on between him and Jesse.  If she’d still smile at him like that.  If she’d still push the screen door open and wave him inside, ruffle his hair lightly as he walks past.

“You look nice,” Xander says, forcing himself to meet her eyes.  She’s dressed up, wearing high heels and fancy jewelry, smelling like one of those department store perfume ladies.

“Well, thank you, Xander,” she says.  She sounds pleased and a little bit amused.  “Jesse’s up in his room.  I left money in the kitchen for you guys to order pizza.  We’ll be back late, but knowing you two, you’ll probably still be up.”

“Okay, thanks,” Xander says, heading for the stairs.  “Have a good time.”

“You too,” she calls after him.

He walks down the hall to Jesse’s room.  The door is half-closed, and he pauses before going in.  God, it’s ridiculous for him to be this nervous.  It’s _Jesse_.  He’s been sleeping over here since his PJs had Snoopy on them.  (And yes, the pajamas he’s brought tonight have Marvin the Martian on them, but that’s totally different.  It’s cool in a geeky-hipster-retro way.  Or something.)

He pushes the door open.  Jesse’s lying on the bed, reading a comic book.  Seeing him makes Xander’s stomach twist in a way that seems to be linked, inexplicably, to both lust and nausea.  

“Hey,” Xander says.  He’s going for casual, but his voice is the opposite of that.  He sounds like he’s rehearsing for a play.  An awkward, monosyllabic play.

“Hey.”  Jesse stands up, though Xander’s not sure why.  It’s not like they’re going to hug or shake hands or anything.  Apparently, Jesse’s not sure, either, so here they are, standing three feet apart and not looking at each other.

They hear Jesse’s dad yell that they’re leaving, and the front door opens and closes.  Xander looks at Jesse, who seems to be studying the comforter on his bed.  

“Um,” Jesse offers.  “I rented some movies.”

“Cool,” Xander says, although movies are really, really not at the top of his list right now, and he hopes they aren’t for Jesse, either.  They’re alone in the house, and will be for hours.  They could...well, theoretically, they could do anything.

Xander imagines stepping forward, pushing Jesse up against the wall, kissing him hard.  He imagines surprising him by dropping to his knees and pressing a hand against his crotch.

And then he imagines sprouting wings and zipping Jesse off to his Mediterranean villa, which also serves as the headquarters for his secret superhero alter-ego, Sarcasm Boy, because really?  That seems about equally do-able.

“So you wanna order some pizza?” Jesse asks.

Xander nods.  “Sounds tasty,” he says.  _Sounds tasty_?  What the hell is happening to him?

Jesse grins, though, a real grin, which makes Xander feel a little closer to normal.  “I don’t know, man,” Jesse says, following Xander out of the room.  “Tasty?  I was really thinking more along the lines of scrumptious.”  


  
******

  
This is all pretty new, and Xander’s hoping that the weirdness is just temporary, rather than an exciting new feature of their friendship.  Tonight is only the third time--or at least it will be, assuming anything happens--and as far as Xander can tell, there aren’t any rules.  Not in a cool, lawless, vigilante way, though.  More like, “neither one of us has any idea what we’re doing, which is not to imply that we’re actually doing _anything_, because so far the question has not been raised for discussion.”  And that’s fine with Xander, because he doesn’t necessarily _want_ to talk about it; he just wishes he had a clearer understanding of the situation, so he could plan his evening accordingly.  


  
*****

  
The pizza’s been called in, and they’re waiting for it to arrive.  Xander looks at the clock and notes that, according to his most optimistic schedule for the evening, they should’ve been making out twenty minutes ago.

“So what movies did you get?”

Jesse grabs some videotapes from the kitchen counter.  “One _Candyman_, one _Child’s Play_ and one _Children of the Corn_.”

Xander moves closer to look at the boxes.  His arm is almost touching Jesse’s; he can hear him breathing.  “And tonight’s slasher films have been brought to you by the letter C,” Xander says.

Jesse smiles and turns his head, and their faces are close, and Xander could just...But the doorbell rings.  Right.  Because in Sunnydale, home of mysteriously disappearing pizza guys, pizza only arrives when you _don’t_ want it to.  


  
*****

  
Forty-five minutes later, and there has been no touching and no nakedness.  Naked touching, needless to say, has not been an option.  The hell with it.  He’s just going to...do something.  Any minute now.

He doesn’t know why it should be this hard.  Has he mentioned that this would be the _third_ time?  That as long as Jesse hasn’t changed his mind and one of them is gutsy enough to make a move, they’ll be doing something that’s already happened twice before?  So it’s not like this is an unprecedented thing.  But the bowl of popcorn between them might as well be the Berlin Wall.  (Ha--in your face, Ms. McClintock!  Do students who “don’t apply themselves to the study of history” come up with metaphors involving the Berlin Wall during moments of sexual strategizing?  Xander thinks not.)

Xander’s pretty sure they both want this to happen.  But it’s like there’s Point A, which is Xander and Jesse sitting on the couch, eating popcorn and pretending to watch Chucky stab someone in the ankle with a knife, and there’s Point B, which is Jesse’s tongue in Xander’s mouth and Xander’s hands on Jesse’s body, the jut of Jesse’s hard cock against his hip.  Xander’s been to both places.  He knows it’s possible to get from one to the other.  But every single time, it’s like he’s lost the map.

Xander reaches out with the intention of resting his arm along the back of Jesse’s neck, but he’s misjudged the distance, and he makes a last-minute dive into the popcorn bowl.  This has to get easier, right?  It’s not like they’re going to be thirty years old and still sitting next to each other awkwardly, wondering who’s going to make the first move.  Not that this is...that kind of thing.  A still-doing-this-when-we’re-thirty thing.  Xander should probably figure out if this is a still-doing-this-next-Thursday thing before he starts planning their Big Gay Future.

Xander doesn’t even really want any popcorn, but that’s where his hand is, so he opens his fingers to grab a handful of kernels.  And then the rustling noise must remind Jesse that he wants some too, because he reaches down, and holy shit, their hands are touching in the bowl of popcorn, and why did Xander not think of this sooner?  

He moves a finger a fraction of an inch, rubbing across Jesse’s knuckle, and he hears Jesse draw in a quiet breath.  Could this be any more cheesy, any more “teenagers at the drive-in?”  Well, it could, hypothetically.  If, say, brushing Jesse’s hand in a bowl of popcorn turns out to be the single sexiest thing he’s ever encountered in his entire, admittedly not-very-sexy, life.  It’s like there’s some nerve ending whose only job is to convey sensation directly from his fingertips to his cock.  He’s hard in seconds, filled with a slow, aching heat of the kind of intensity he usually associates with the Victoria’s Secret catalogue.

Xander turns to look at Jesse, who’s staring back, wide-eyed.  Suddenly, it’s easy.  All they have to do is reach for each other.

The popcorn bowl goes flying, and Jesse’s mom is going to have something to say about that, because there’s no way they’re going manage to pick up all the pieces, no matter how thorough they try to be.  But it doesn’t matter, because _god_, he’s sucking on Jesse’s lip and running a hand down Jesse’s back to the soft skin just above the waistband of his jeans.  Because this is all he’s thought about for the past week, and it’s finally, finally happening.

There’s maniacal laughter from the screen, and they both crack up, breaking the kiss and resting their foreheads together.

“You want to turn that off?” Xander says.  His voice is low and husky; he’s never heard it this way.  It’s pretty hot, actually.  He could get a job narrating porn for the blind, as long as he could bring Jesse along to get him in the right mood. 

Jesse finds the remote and clicks a button, then reaches over to lift the hem of Xander’s shirt.  Xander lifts his arms and lets Jesse uncover him, gasping a little when Jesse pauses to flick his tongue over the pulse point in Xander’s neck.  He’s never been undressed by somebody else before--well, he _has_, but not in the last twelve years or so, and not in this kind of situation--and he’s surprised at how intimate it feels.  He tries it the other way around, pulling the fabric of Jesse’s shirt up to reveal his chest, and--yes, also good.  All that skin...vast deserts of bare skin, as far as the eye can see.  As Jesse raises his arms to help, Xander’s drawn to the scent, thick and musky, this _guy_ smell that’s suddenly all around him, and he follows the impulse to bury his nose in the unexpectedly soft hair under Jesse’s raised arm.

“Xander,” Jesse whispers, trying to twist away.  He sounds embarrassed and faintly shocked.  But Xander holds Jesse’s arm in the air and presses a kiss to the skin underneath, tasting soap and deodorant and _Jesse_.  He feels his dick pulse a little bit, releasing a drop of moisture into the fabric of his underwear.  Who would’ve guessed that an _armpit_ could turn him on so much?

“You smell good,” he whispers, and feels suddenly shy, wondering if that kind of compliment is too much.  But then Jesse draws in a raspy breath and grabs him around the waist, pulling him in hard, and when they kiss again, it’s frenzied and rough.  Jesse pushes him back and climbs on top of him, and they’re grinding together, and god, if half-naked is this good, then whole-naked is going to be amazing.  He reaches for the button of Jesse’s jeans.

The other two times they’ve done this, they’ve gotten this far, but not much further.  Usually, by the time they get their hands on each others’ dicks, they’re so far gone that it doesn’t take much.  But this time, Xander’s determined to try something else.  

He fumbles with Jesse’s zipper for a minute, and Jesse lifts his hips to give him more room, but at some point there’s an unspoken decision that it’s going to be quicker and more efficient if they each just take their own pants off.  Then they’re standing there naked in Jesse’s living room--Xander has a weird flash of the two of them pouring out their bags of Halloween candy on this very rug--and god, is there even a word to describe how Jesse looks?  Because Xander doesn’t think “beautiful” would go over well, but “handsome” makes him think of grandmothers complimenting little boys dressed up in suits, and “gorgeous” is more of a movie star thing--and then he lunges at Jesse and gets them back on the couch so that he’s on top.  They’re kissing again, but now there’s nothing between them, just skin against skin, and this is how it’s ended up being so quick the other two times, because it would be so easy to just start moving and not stop until they’re breathless and sticky.

Xander forces himself to stop kissing Jesse, to focus on moving down Jesse’s body until Jesse’s cock is right there, and he can reach out and swipe it with his tongue.  He’s been thinking about this.  Like, a lot.  And he’s not moving away until Jesse comes in his mouth.  Or possibly, because he’s willing to allow himself the possibility that he might chicken out at the last minute, really, really near his mouth.  And actually, the idea of driving Jesse to that point and then pulling away and letting him shoot on Xander’s chest or his belly or his neck is really fucking hot.

Up close, Jesse’s cock is...well, bigger than he’d thought when he’d felt it in his hand, and it seems like there might be some engineering challenges when it comes to getting it in his mouth.  But he’s game, and those tiny porn chicks probably have smaller mouths than he does, and they manage with bigger guys than this, guys who have definitely had some kind of augmentation surgery, so...He opens wide and lowers his mouth onto Jesse’s cock.

It’s big and awkward, but he didn’t expect any different, and his brain is suddenly a thesaurus of filthy terms.  _I’m going down on him_, he’s thinking, _I’m sucking him off, I’m giving him head_.  His mind moves forward to some unspecified time, when he might have to describe this moment, and he thinks, _I blew him.  I sucked his cock_.  And as caught up as he is in his part of it, he’s aware that the whole point of this is to make it good for Jesse, and really?  It doesn’t seem like Jesse’s hating it.  He’s moaning and jerking his hips, pushing his dick further into Xander’s throat in a way that seems almost involuntary, and Xander has to be careful not to gag, because puking on Jesse’s crotch is something he’d really like to avoid.  But the idea that it is involuntary, that he’s making Jesse lose control right here in front of him, turns him on like crazy.

He rubs his cock furiously against Jesse’s calf, feeling rough hair and hard muscle.  He’d like to reach down and grab himself, stroke himself while he listens to the noises Jesse’s making--the noises Xander’s _making_ him make--but he’s not sure what the etiquette is here.  Would it be...rude or something?

He imagines the situation reversed, looking down to see his cock disappearing into Jesse’s mouth, seeing Jesse reach down to jerk himself off as he sucks.  And holy shit, “rude” isn’t even in the right dictionary.  He’s on fire, the pictures in his head working together with the reality of Jesse’s body against him, Jesse’s dick in his mouth.  He hears Jesse make a soft gasping noise that’s so intimate, so fucking sexy he can’t stand it.  He groans, sounding half-strangled, and comes all over Jesse’s leg.

It’s interesting, because he’d like to just collapse now, but he still has a job to do.  In all his previous orgasm experience, he’s never had to do anything more strenuous afterward than dab himself with a tissue and drift off to sleep.  But Jesse’s cock is still hard and thrusting in his mouth, and he’s as desperate for release as Xander was two minutes ago.  Xander sucks harder, hollowing his cheeks and doing something inexact but enthusiastic with his tongue.  Jesse’s twitching and gasping, and then there’s an instant of stillness that lets Xander know he’d better get ready.  He’s making Jesse come, and in his state of post-orgasm semi-clarity, he has the wherewithal to swallow down every drop.

  


*****

  
Of course, the sleeping arrangements haven’t changed; Jesse’s parents are going to be home at some point, and his mom will probably be opening the door and offering pancakes at some completely inexcusable hour.  So Jesse’s up on the twin bed, and Xander’s stretched out in the Star Trek sleeping bag he’s had since he was ten, and as good as he feels, he has to wonder if they’re back on the other side of that wall again.  Back to Xander-and-Jesse who have been friends since they were five and who pretend that the lines are drawn thick and clear.  Back to Xander-and-Jesse who crack jokes in class and hang out with Willow and never, ever think about the way it feels to rut against each other, naked and aching.

But then there’s a rustling noise and a vague presence in the dark, and Jesse is down on the floor, kissing him goodnight.  They haven’t had a kiss like this before; it isn’t goal-oriented, it isn’t a means to an end.  It’s quick and tender, and Jesse’s back up in his bed before Xander can even form any coherent thought.

Maybe this is that kind of thing, Xander thinks, letting his mind roam free.  Hard as it is to imagine, they’re going to be thirty someday anyway, right?  He turns over, works to get comfortable on the hard floor, a spark of unnamed warmth deep in his belly, and thinks about a future that’s vague but happy.  No reason they can’t be thirty together.  



End file.
